AJ Dance Legacy

CELEBRATE THE DAY

DJ 1derful, AKA Joseph King, and his crew; DJ BE, Deigratia and Allison Pickens charges the city’s saturated soulful house music market with an alternative guise-a Saturday day party. His day parties are unique in that no two parties are the same. Be the celebration’s exhaustive list of local guest DJs to its unique grounds. The Atlanta premier party’s home is located at the city’s oldest department store cornered at the cross section of Edgewood and Boulevard. The brick and mortar contains two distinct floors, a bar and DJ space downstairs in the Department Store and a bar with a live band stage upstairs in Erosol. Erosol the Department Store’s old charm antique has been replaced with contemporary furnishings; refurbished wooden floors, pastel color painted walls and black and white visuals that hang on exposed walls. A professional soundboard sits in the room’s rear where a DJ scurries to adjust the highs, mids and lows. No disco ball hangs over the floor only breast-shaped lanterns. For other eye-popping views look out the large window to catch a bustling Old Fourth Ward bask in her majestic glory.

Downstairs libations are poured and gossip is overheard. The bar is packed with handshakes, hugs and smiles. On a leather couch a dad, mom and child pose for a family portrait. The air feels light, the conversations are relaxed that adds personality to the ground floor’s character. Upstairs, the early bird’s, twenty or more individuals, are scattered throughout the room. Voices are stuck in conversation and eyes are glued to mobile screens. One couple provides all the dance floor excitement. Their feet shuffling as their arms create ripples in the air.

Within the hour, green wrist bands fill the room. The graying of hairs and withering hairlines are on full display. A quick glance at faces pits pearly whites against fine wrinkles. The majority of the patrons present are approaching their mid-century mark. Blame it not on the boogie but the daylight hours that provide a high-definition lens of shocking features given to shrink in dark rooms at night.

Michael Jackson’s “You Can’t Win” causes aged feet to dance. The sounds of Chicago native DJ Tony Jakks, stay firmly Blue Lights in the Basement until the crowd chants “Hey Hey,” Dennis Ferrer’s yesteryear anthem.

A band of salt and pepper hair, cropped to a swoosh, appears on stage. DJ Deb stands hunched over and sprawled over the decks. She steadies are index finger that hovers over a red light for a few seconds. On the eighth count she releases her finger to press the button that plays the next track. Where DJ Roland Clark aspires to be “President House,” a Martha Wash a cappella makes mouths sing “I Don’t Know Anybody Else,” while Kenny Bobien’s “I Shall Not Be Moved” takes Celebrate to church. The music  is all four-to-the-floor hardcore with a dash of old skool/vocal house and deep house thumps. The Jamaican born DJ one-hour set sets the room ablaze. The baby powder falls to the floor.  The people dance.  The people sweat.  

“Who is the first person to show proof that you are here at the party on a social networking site?” The brainchild of Celebrate-Atlanta’s Premier Party, DJ 1derful asks over the microphone. He sounds like a loveable teddy bear ready for a big hug. He grins with ease as if throwing parties is a summer breeze.

Several months earlier, Joseph and his crew were riding their wave of a moderately successful monthly night soiree at an East Atlanta Village eatery. One Friday night, Joseph and his team loyal arrived at the venue to set up for their gig only to find the establishment’s doors locked without prior warning of the venue’s closure. When one door closes, a new door opens. During a business trip to Texas, Joseph discovered a gem in Houston’s party market. Hmmm, a light bulb moment occurred. A few months later DJ 1derful would test his revelation at the “brick building on the corner,” thanks to the advice of his friend Deigratia. At 2 pm on a February afternoon, Erosol the Department Store opened its stores for its grand debut- Celebrate-the premier Saturday party of its kind.

“Meeee!” A woman with cropped hair screams. The all-too-happy-woman dressed in all white runs up to the DJ stage. She shoves her mobile device in front of DJ 1derful’s blinding smile.

“Congratulations! We have a winner.” It is this winning spirit where Celebrate excels above the average run-of-the-mill carousing. Rather or not one wins a raffle prize; of a local music grab bag or a mega-chain retail gift card, everyone who attends Celebrate feels like a winner. One house music enthusiast eloquently explains her winning formula, “I can party during the day, go home, eat dinner and go to bed at a reasonable time.”

Words by aj dance/Visuals by aj dance

CELEBRATING MUJASI

This Is A War Cry.

The warriors are prepared.  They have come ready to give out of sacrifice.  They come ready to give life-bearing fruit.  Too, the warriors are armed.  They are armed with their finances.  They are armed with their prayers.  They are armed with their God-given talents, skilled abilities and creative acumen.  They are armed with their dedication.  But most of all, they are armed with love.  They are equipped for battle.  But this battle is different.  This battle is not for the faint of heart, the ballerina types.  This battle is for the strong and courageous of heart, the dancers that drop beads of sweat that are gritty and free-style.

Sunset scorches the harvest sky a fiery salmon that streaks south before succumbing to the night’s outer darkness to the east.  A full moon hangs suspended in animated glory.  Its illumination provides a guiding light for the traveling troops.

The sleeping dust nesting beneath the warrior’s feet awakens and scurries into the nocturnal air at the incoming uproar.  The warrior’s feet march in sync into battle.  Their syncopated stomps are so harmonious it morphs into a life-giving heartbeat of drums thumping on rhythmic four counts.  The thumps grow louder and louder until a life-pulsating heartbeat sounds throughout the land. The healing heartbeat of restoration guides the warrior’s feet to dance.  When their feet dance, a seismic force of life-birthing tremors shakes the earth.  The dancers become a ramose of sporadic interpretations woven through the tapestry of mobile expressions.  Even rhythm-challenged white girls get down, dancing like injured robots in need of dance lessons, as experienced house dancers stomp holes into the ground, and gays J-set, drop to the ground-like it’s hot-and spring up again in a split second.  Every heart is in on the action.  Even the ministers of music deliver nothing short of sensational sermons; DJ 1derful of Sunday School lays down Reel People’s featuring Tony Momrelle, “Golden Lady”(Louie Vega Roots Mix), DJ Lynee Denise of Chitlin’ Circuit guides the dancers to an oasis of afro and deep house paradise, DJ Stanzeff of Tambor fame leads the parishioners to “The Bright Forest,”  Ramon Rawsoul, Founding Father of The Gathering, takes the people all around the world, DJ Salah Ananse of Sunday School has the dancers “Body Drummin’” as DJ Yusef of Free Ur Soul serves a heartfelt reminder that “Life Starts Today.”  Every heart dances as if to call down rain from the sky.  It’s a time of celebration.  It’s a time of life.  It’s a time of healing.  For this is Mujasi’s healing.

Who is this Mujasi that commands the hearts of the known and the unknown to give unconditionally through finances, prayer and dance?  Who is this Mujasi that causes six ministers of music, from various deep and soulful house music soirees around the city, to set aside their petty differences, uphold their common mantle, deep house music, and come together to support a benevolent cause?

It takes a community….It takes a village.

His name translates courageous warrior.  He is but only four years of age and yet a young man of many years.  Mujasi, the lad with a heart of steel and a heart of gold, was recently diagnosed with LCH-Unifocal (Langerhans cell histiocytosis, unifocal) a rare auto-immune disease that effects eight out of one million children.  The much-needed treatments for this rare disease are aggressive and expensive.  The treatments are so astronomically expensive that health care only covers a minute fraction of the costs.  Enter the city’s house music community and the city’s music community at large to assist with financial support and generous efforts.

Mujais’s prayer sings in the air, “There is no affliction in me.”  Although, not physically present on the battlefield his spirit dances with his mother’s heart that serves a faithful reminder when five years earlier, Mom danced with Son in womb at various house music functions across the city.

Mujasi’s mother, Theresa McGhee leads the warriors to battle.  Mother Theresa, the host of the Sunday evening gathering titled Sunday Dinner, fights for nothing less than the best.  Mother Theresa is not for show, but possesses a treasured heart of humility.  She diligently works hard “in the game” to support her son and to keep him happy.  She gives her all.  Her dance of triumph emanates from her heart.  She gracefully dances onto the battle field.  She adorns the battlegrounds.  Two dimples, worth a million dollars, dot about to and fro.  Her smile is awe-inspiring.  Although petite in frame, her spirit structures the battlefield’s strategic movements.  Every eye gazes stunned.  Her life-giving joy touches every soul she encounters.  A close stare in those bright as the moon, two-doe eyes aglow in hazel, reveals no hint of sorrow as her vibrant visage, besieged with two cheekbones that are perched as high as mountaintops, reveals no trace of doom or gloom.

She rallies the troops with a valiant heart-felt proclamation.  She is animated.  She is emotional.  She talks in cant, a sing-song pattern that practically eludes a poetess historic of spoken word.  She sways onstage and she bends over at the outpouring of generosity and support and most of all love from her brothers and sisters.  She tells of the many telephone calls that she has received, even from former-school peers that she no longer recalls.  She cries.  The troops cry.  She speaks of not only her son’s healing but the healing of the warriors through their giving.  The troops respond with valiant shouts of agreement that materialize in the warm air.

Back on the battlefield, the dancers know something.  Yes, they carry a secret.  Lend them your ear.  The secret whispers, “Already the battle is won.  Mother and Son have the victory.”  So, the warriors dance in victory.  Death will not show its face tonight, the next night or any other night thereafter.  Not even, a hint of death’s venom in slave- induced sickness will be felt.  Even the universe bares witness with a miraculous message of majestic proportions.

Look up in the night’s sky.  Yes, up in the air.  See, the harvest moon illuminated in its entire splendor.  There is something different about this moon.  The lunar creation shimmers with a blue magnetic ring that shivers around its spherical form.  The moon speaks.  It speaks truth.  Hear the words, “This is not the courageous warrior’s end but the courageous warrior’s beginning.  We celebrate you, Mujasi.”

To donate and for more information:

Healing Mujasi by Theresa McGee

Words & photography by AJ Dance/Except flyer